


Bound

by lonelywalker



Category: Brimstone
Genre: Anal Sex, Banter, Bondage, Christmas, Glitter, M/M, Theological Debate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 19:43:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelywalker/pseuds/lonelywalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Devil's writing Christmas cards, but Zeke's a little tied up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [airspaniel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/airspaniel/gifts).



Ezekiel's thighs are bruised, and his lips are bloody when he finally wakes from hours of dreamless sleep. His shoulders, rotated painfully far, ache from the stress of his hands, tied with an extraordinarily tight silk scarf to the iron frame.

At the foot of the bed, the Devil, wearing nothing but a bright red Santa hat that jingles with every move of his head, is merrily writing out Christmas cards with a glitter pen.

It is, Zeke strongly suspects, one of _those_ days.

"Ah, Ezekiel." The Devil thoughtfully chews the top of his pen. "I was just going through our list. Now, we really don't have many mutual friends, do we? Young Max, of course. Such a sweet girl. She thinks I'm a wonderful influence on you, you know."

Zeke twists his head to look up at the knot keeping him tethered to the bed, and grunts noncommittally in reply.

"Then there's Detective Kane. We haven't met, officially, but I'm sure he's heard an awful lot about me. And that priest friend of yours… Hmmm. I'm not sure what the Vatican's position _is_ on accepting cards from the, ah, other side, as it were. Still, he's blind, so perhaps we shouldn't worry."

Vigorous scoring out of names.

"Now… I wanted to ask you, Zeke, what do you think about sending a card to your dear ex-wife?"

Zeke winces in pain, trying to contort his hands so that he can get a fingernail into the knot and set himself free.

The Devil nods, bell jingling all the while. "Yes, I know, rather impersonal. But still, it would be rather better than the, ah, dead silence you've been rather stubbornly maintaining since your death. Very rude of you, if I might say."

"Not contacting her was _your_ idea," Zeke says, muscles straining.

"And if I told you to jump off a pier… No, scratch that. Besides, we have to ease her into accepting us as a couple. I'm not suggesting we simply show up at her house on Christmas Day bearing turkey and presents, am I?" Zeke's eyes go wide. "Although that is quite the splendid idea, if I do say so myself."

Exhausted by the effort, Zeke slumps back down onto the bed with a sigh. "We're not a couple."

The Devil casts a look up and down his naked body. "I must say that's a very interesting argument coming from a man in your position, Zeke."

Zeke glares, and gingerly licks his bitten lips. He wants a beer. A vodka. An entire bottle of very good scotch, but if even saliva makes them sting… "What Ros and I had was a partnership. We loved one another. We still do."

Jingle jingle. "Good, good…" the Devil says, making notes.

"Being a couple isn't just about…" Zeke tugs futilely on his bonds. "…whatever we did last night. It's about mutual trust. Respect."

"This is truly sickening, Zeke," the Devil nods. "I should send this on to my dearly devoted worshippers at Hallmark."

Zeke glares. "In other words, all the things you and I just don't have."

There's a pause, singularly unmarked by the sound of bells, and the Devil turns to look at him, pen laid down. "Why, Ezekiel, I'm _wounded_ at the thought of…"

"Save it." Ordinarily – if Zeke _ever_ ordinarily found himself in such a situation – he would simply ask the Devil to untie him. However, the Devil being the Devil, such a simple request is only likely to make his day even worse.

The Devil huffs out a breath, which Zeke can only assume is purely for effect, and pouts. His hat seems to wilt a little. "Is there really anyone else you'd let put you in such a position?" he asks. "Kane? He's a trusted officer of the law, you know. Max? Your wife? No, I doubt it. But last night you let me do it. _Let_ me do it, Ezekiel. And much more, besides. What does that say about our little relationship?"

Zeke's found a little give in the knot, even if his wrists are chafed and twisted and his hands are starting to go blue. "You're the Devil. It doesn't count."

Good point as that may be, it doesn't seem to go over well. "Now that's a very racist point of view," the Devil says, getting up onto the bed to sit crosslegged by Zeke's thigh.

"Racist?"

The Devil tilts his head to one side, running a lone finger down Zeke's belly, following the trail of hair to his groin. "Well, I suppose it's more of a question of species than race."

Zeke pulls himself up to try and get his teeth working the knot. Of course, as if he didn't have enough to deal with, this movement simply jerks his cock firmly into the Devil's palm. "You're the Prince of Lies. I'm not discriminating against you because you're an angel."

"Really?" The Devil relaxes as he strokes Zeke, his hand firm and smooth. Somehow, Zeke isn't quite motivated to simply kick him in the head and push him off the bed. He should be able to get _something_ good out of this mess, after all. "Most people have very positive views – just because those folks up there have such a well-oiled PR machine. Pretty little boys and girls with halos, sitting on clouds and on the tops of Christmas trees…"

Zeke's cock is swelling up into the Devil's hand, and he pauses in his efforts, convincing himself that it's just so he can get some blood back into his hands, and take a breather before resuming his escape attempts in earnest.

"Remember we _used_ to be fearsome? Flaming swords… We destroyed entire cities. Now they all seem happy enough having their balls chopped off as long as people sing nice carols about them."

"Have to admit," Zeke says, his hips moving in time with the Devil's hand, his body filling with a strangely familiar heat, "you're not on many Christmas cards."

The Devil wrinkles his nose. "Well. At least I'm not a mincing eunuch with a harp."

Sometimes, just sometimes, thoughts slip into Zeke's mind that are so horrific, so unbidden, that he wants to wash out his brain with bleach. And then he considers just how disgusted the Devil will be, and says it anyway: "You'd look cute with a harp," he says, and smirks.

The Devil's lips twist, and suddenly the events of last night are crystal clear in Zeke's mind: the deep relief of not needing to fight his desires, the delicious hurt of the restraints rousing sensation from dead flesh, and the searing pleasure of having a man thick and hard and _burning_ inside him.

He groans, and surrenders to the need that's been churning in him ever since he opened his eyes, thrusting upwards just as the hot, wet, diabolical goodness of the Devil's mouth takes him whole.


End file.
